From Bond, With Love
by RosalindsGhost
Summary: A re-working of From Russia, With Love. Imagine Tom Hardy as the new James Bond. He is my personal favourite for the role. Bit more of an explanation inside. Rated M for language and adult content. If that isn't what you were looking for, turn back now. I do not own the characters, all that jazz. Lemon.


_Couldn't be bothered writing much of a creative lead-up for this one. Just imagine that Tom Hardy is the new James Bond. Pretend that he has recently been promoted to '00' status, and so is a little more bashful around women than the Bond we know and love. This is a pretty major re-working of '_ From Russia, With Love,' _where Tatiana Romanova is a Soviet agent herself, rather than a cypher clerk. She defects to MI6 and is partnered with Bond to take down the ridiculously anagrammed "SMERSH." She has gained major trust in MI6 at this point, having turned over several key Soviet agents and saved M's life from a KGB assassination attempt. They have been discovered while trying to steal encryption codes from the government offices in the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg (Leningrad, at this point in history). They are now on the run along the frozen banks of the Neva River._

 _*I won't be writing out Tatiana's accent, because that makes me cringe. You guys have imaginations, or you wouldn't be on here. So please imagine her thick, Russian accent._

 _**I suppose a similar scene in the 1997 film version of '_ The Saint' _starring Val Kilmer and Elizabeth Shue inspired me._

 _***Characters are not mine, obviously. Rated M for Language and sexual content. Turn back now if that isn't what you're looking for._

The cold air seared through Bond's lungs as he and Tatiana scrambled along the frozen banks of the Neva, underneath the overhanging road. Suddenly, she pressed him flat against the bank. She put a silent finger to her lips. He could hear the soldier's boots scraping across the crusts of ice just above them. He held her gaze, watching her intently. Her cheeks were bright red and her white-blond hair shone against the snow. The back of his mind was screaming that he should be trying to find a way out of this, but all he could seem to do was look at her.

Her head jerked up as a small dusting of snow was pushed over the edge of the road, through the guardrails. The soldiers were trying to see if anyone was down on the bank. They were shielded by the overhang, but only just.

They waited, breathlessly. Then, relief washed over her face as they heard the footsteps retreat, and the door of a jeep creak shut. Her body slumped against the bank, and she smiled across at him, elated that they had made an escape. Suddenly, her expression changed to one of surprise and fear, and she was lunging for the overhang, trying to get purchase on anything as her feet slid out from underneath her. For a split-second, she managed to grasp a crust of snow before it cracked, releasing her to slide alarmingly fast toward the frozen river. He dove toward her, trying to grab her outstretched hand, but she landed on the ice and shockingly, horrifyingly, went through.

Bond was about to dive in after her, when he heard running footsteps approaching. Horrified, he pressed himself against the bank. He again heard the boots scrape overhead as they leaned in to see what had broken through the ice. Tatiana's instincts had proved incredibly valuable, as she hadn't made a sound when she slipped.

He didn't know what to hope for. Did he want her to stay under the water? Neither of them would be discovered that way, but there was no way she could survive in that freezing water for long. And if she didn't come up, should he worry that she had hit her head, or that the current had pulled her far away, under the ice where he could reach her? He waited for what seemed like eternity. On snatches of wind, he heard the soldiers deciding that the crust of snow that had broken off the bank was the culprit that broke the ice. He listened as the walked away, then got back into the jeep. He let out the breath he had been holding only when he heard the engine turn over, and the soldiers drove away.

Quickly, he dropped to his stomach and shoved his arm into the freezing water, hoping she was there, just under the surface. A moment passed as he felt around, and his heart grew cold as nothing broke the surface. Then suddenly, he felt her arm grasp his, weakly, and he hauled her out of the water, coughing and cascading freezing water off her body.

Her body was already shaking so hard he could barely hold her, but she smiled up at him, just a little. "Well Miss Romanova," he quipped, barely able to keep the relief out of his voice, "You certainly are a cool customer when under pressure."

She chuckled faintly. "Come on, my dear. Let's get you warm," he said, and hauled her to her feet. He half dragged, half carried her through the darkened streets, trying desperately to make it appear as though he was only helping his drunken lover get out of the cold. Luckily, there were very few people out at this time of night, and in this cold. He knew they would still be looking for them, though, so he had to get her off the streets as quickly as possible.

Shocked at the way Fortune sometimes did an about-face, he spotted a closed exercise gym. Thank God they were in the country of 'self-improvement for the good of the people.' He dragged her around back; he leaned her immobile body against the wall and smashed the window of the rear door. She had stopped shivering, and he was extremely worried that she was falling into severe hypothermia. He reached in and unlocked the door, kicking it open. He lifted her in his arms, and she was utterly still. 'Come on, Tatania," he whispered fiercely, "Don't give up on me!"

He looked desperately through the gloom and saw a sign that read 'Showers,' in Russian. He loped toward them, and elbowed his way into the room. He quickly found the first tiled shower stall, and prayed that the water would be hot. He turned the tap on to an icy blast, and he momentarily lost hope before he realized that the water was slowly warming up. He pushed her under the spray, and he sighed in relief when it roused her immediately. "'T'hurts," she moaned, thickly.

"I know," he sighed, "It won't hurt for long, I promise. Now let's get these wet clothes off you."

James set her feet gently on the floor and stood supporting her against the shower wall. He began to peel away the clothes that had frozen stiff on the desperate journey through the dark. They were defrosting in the rapidly warming water, so he managed to remove them fairly easily. Her parka came off first, and her boots. Then he removed her sweater and trousers. When had her down to a thin shirt, bra, and panties he stopped. She was lovely.

She was shivering again, which was a good sign, and her eyes were closed, so he took the opportunity to admire her body. Though her lips and the tips of her fingers and toes were almost blue with cold, and the rest of her skin was deathly pale, he still thought she was one of the most beautiful women he had ever had the privilege to look upon. But if he admitted it to himself, he didn't just find her body striking, it was her mind that captivated him. She was on his level in every way as an agent, and he was sure she surpassed him in ability to think around problems and get herself out of sticky situations. Now that he was no longer panicking, he was absolutely certain she would have figured out a way to get herself out of this situation, had he not been here.

His eyes grazed over her peaked nipples, her slightly parted lips, and her silver hair stuck in tendrils to her face. He let his gaze wander lower, admiring how the wet shirt had become transparent and clung to her curves. The lace of her bra and panties was clearly visible, and he felt himself drawn to that triangle between her thighs. Against his will, he could feel himself becoming incredibly aroused. Yet he couldn't tear his eyes away.

Then her voice came through chattering teeth. "I see the way you look at me, you know. When you think I am not paying attention, you like to look at my body."

His eyes snapped up to hers. She was gazing at him steadily, inscrutable. He wished he didn't feel the colour rising in his face. He tried to look anywhere but her, but she was all around him and they were trapped in the tiny shower space until she warmed up and they could shake off the pursuit. "It is alright," she whispered, "I look at you the same way."

Tatiana's chilly hand was on his cheek, gently guiding him to face her. "Look at me. This time, you will see what I want you to see."

He lifted his gaze to meet hers. Her eyes were boring into his, her pupils dilated so wide he could barely see the beautiful steely grey irises that could be so cold and yet so warm. "I like it," she breathed, "I want you to look."

He felt a hot rush of shame as his erection strained against his trousers at her words. She had just told him everything he had longed to hear, but they were partners. They couldn't get involved. Any emotional entanglement, romantic or otherwise, could severely compromise their effectiveness as a team. And the unbridled lust mixed with something deeper (something that he wouldn't even name to himself) that he felt when he looked at her scared him more than anything he had experienced in the field. But then her icy lips brushed his, ever so gently.

That small touch sang through his veins, thrilling him to the tips of his toes. He pulled back as if she had burned him. "You don't know what you're talking about," he managed, his voice shaking with strain and repressed desire. "You're bordering on hypothermic, we've almost been killed. It's just the adrenaline and the cold talking."

"If I am so cold," she said, her voice dropping an octave – Christ, he could _hear_ the lust in her voice – "Then why don't you warm me up?"

Slowly he felt her leg slide up his own and hook around his hips, leaving a trail of burning cold and drawing him inexorably closer to her body. He braced his hands on the wall on either side of her head, trying in vain to resist her body. He was at the peak of his physical condition, yet he could barely fight against this woman who had been severely weakened by cold. "Stop" he managed to choke out, "Please!"

She stopped, a whisper of space between their soaking wet bodies. The hot water was pounding them both equally now, and he was breathing as hard as if he'd run a marathon. She gazed at him for a long moment. "I don't want to stop," she said, and it was as if the words had been dredged up from her very soul, tired and ancient and ringing with truth, "And neither do you."

She drew him in, and he let out a strangled groan when he felt her center meet his erection through his wet jeans. She wasn't cold. No. She was _burning hot_ for him. Before he even registered that his own muscles had moved, his lips met hers with a fury. Though she was still cold and sluggish, she opened her mouth to him and her tongue met his with equal fervour. She bit his lower lip sharply as his cold fingers sought her breasts, her nipples standing in rigid, almost painful peaks through her thin lace bra and wet, transparent shirt. He seized them and pinched, her teeth drawing blood from his lip in response. She eased up on her bite as he snarled at the pain, and she licked the blood away from his lips, deepening the kiss again, which now tasted metallic and salty as well as hot and sweet.

He heard himself moaning into her mouth as she rubbed herself against him, and he pressed her hard against the wall of the shower, his fingers sliding between their flush hips, seeking the heat there. She dragged her fingernails across his back as she hissed "Yesss…" She peeled his parka and shirt off as quickly as she could, echoing his words with a smirk: "Let us get you out of these wet clothes." She captured his mouth again with her own.

Tatiana's whole body went rigid against him as he brushed aside her panties and slid a digit inside her. She tore her mouth away from his, panting: "Oh God James, it feels so good. How can it feel so good already?"

He didn't reply as he pumped his finger in and out of her tight passage, his thumb brushing her clit as she writhed against him; he knew why it felt so good, and he knew, had always known, that it would feel even better before they were finished with each other. Her eyes were clenched tightly closed, and she was panting. He watched intently as the blood began to rise in her cheeks. Her skin was rapidly warming now, and a flush was spreading across her chest as her shivers subsided fully. He slid his other hand down her body to find the edge of her shirt, never pausing in his ministrations to her sensitive cunt. He peeled the wet garment off over her head, only pausing long enough to admire the curve of her breasts and the stiff points of her pebbled nipples before he bent down and savaged the soft flesh with his mouth. Soft, high moans were escaping her breathlessly, now, and he mercilessly added a second and third finger to her passage. He was bringing her so close, already. She had clearly been thinking about this, wanting this, for as long as he had. Maybe she had even brought herself off with his name on her lips, just as he had done with hers time and again. He drew back, withdrawing his fingers as he did. Her fingernails instantly dug into the skin of his lower back. "Why are you stopping?!" she snarled.

He smiled, so deeply content that her body cried out for his. He lifted his fingers to his mouth, tasting her on them. He silently thanked MI6 for ensuring that each of its agents was clean and protected from pregnancy before they took to the field. It was not as though Bond had thought to bring condoms for this situation. "Oh, you'll come," he breathed, "And I want to see your face when it happens. But I also want to be inside you when it happens."

A look of delight overtook the one of angry surprise on her face. She practically purred as his fingers deftly ripped the flimsy seams on her underwear, and he pulled them away without having to disengage her leg from around his hips. She then reached between them and unzipped his trousers. She slipped her hand inside and he drew his breath in sharply, painfully as he almost came when her chilly fingers grasped his burning, throbbing cock. She pulled him free of his trousers and guided him to her entrance. James felt as if he were dying when the swollen head brushed her hot slit, and he couldn't wait any longer. He thrust roughly inside her, and Tatiana cried out loudly as he fully sheathed his length inside of her. He stopped, shuddering, desperately trying to keep still, worried he had hurt her, and terrified someone would hear them. "Ughn," she moaned, "I am not hurt. But I am going to have a difficult time keeping quiet."

God she felt amazing stretched around his girth. He was shaking with the strain of holding back, his mind clouded with lust. He couldn't think of how to help her, but she came up with the solution herself. She reached around behind her head and grabbed her sopping wet, braided hair and bit down on the end of it. She looked so savage and beautiful just then that his heart nearly broke. She nodded at him, and he his body surged with relief as he drew back and thrust inside of her again.

She moaned through her hair as he thrust into her, unable to stop himself from aggressively pounding his cock into her cunt. He seized her other leg, lifting her off the ground and hooking her ankles behind his back so he could fuck her against the wall. The rhythmic slapping of their wet bodies echoed throughout the showers, and he desperately hoped that they wouldn't be heard, for he was too far-gone to stop now.

She reached overhead to grasp the showerhead, helping to support her weight, or possibly just scrabbling for purchase from his onslaught. Either way, this allowed him to slide one arm under her ass, freeing the other so that he could slip his hand between them again to focus on that tight bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex. Sharp, muffled moans were escaping around her tightly clenched teeth, and he felt his balls tighten as he watched the pleasure on her face. Her inner walls were fluttering around his cock, and he knew he wanted, no, _needed_ to make her come before he did. He firmly circled her clit with his thumb, and then pressed down _hard_ , rubbing in time with his thrusts. And then he saw it. And he felt it. Her mouth dropped open in a silent scream as her body arched like a taught bow into his. Her muscles clamped around his cock, forcing him to crest on the wave of her orgasm, spurting in to her again and again. But he kept his eyes open. He watched as her face, neck, and chest flushed deeply, her eyes fluttered, and her breasts heaved. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

She collapsed onto him, shuddering. She was utterly spent from the cold and the sex, and her muscles simply would not cooperate with her any more. His own legs quivered as he lowered them both slowly to the floor. Her cradled her under the hot spray of the shower as she shuddered and shook with the aftershocks of orgasm. He was still inside her, and he kissed her all over her face and neck, almost devoutly, as her shivers subsided.

They slept. He wasn't sure for how long, but the water was beginning to run cold when he woke up. That was the last thing they needed. So, despite his exhaustion and his desire to stay in this tiled stall with her until the end of time, he gently shook her to wake her up. "Come on," he whispered, "We have to move now. We'll grab our clothes and wring them out as best we can, then we can make sure the coast is clear before we call for a pick-up."

She nodded sluggishly, and stiffly uncurled herself from his grasp. He felt a sense of loss as she pulled away and began to pick up her scattered garments and squeeze what water she could out of them, decisively shutting off the water as she did so. The silence in the small space was deafening. He stood, too, unsure of what to say. He desperately wanted to break the silence, to hear some confirmation from her that she had felt what he had felt. He hitched his trousers back up his hips and tucked himself back inside his sopping underwear, staring at her naked back, trying to find the words. He reached out and lightly grazed her shoulder with his fingers. She whipped around to face him. Her face was grave as she steadily met his gaze. Then she surged forward and kissed him like a dying woman. He wrapped his arms firmly around her body, her body that was now his, just as his belonged to her.

He barely felt the knife between his ribs.

She pulled away, something like sadness dancing in her eyes.

"Nothing personal," she whispered, as darkness and cold took him.


End file.
